


silvermoon's sparkling

by postalcoast



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clothes Sharing, M/M, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postalcoast/pseuds/postalcoast
Summary: It becomes something of a habit, or a routine. Just something else to be added to the list of all the things they share.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 20
Kudos: 50





	silvermoon's sparkling

**Author's Note:**

> title's from the lyrics of "kiss me" by sixpence none the richer bc YES sappy soft-pop romance songs are major Charthurston vibes and YES it mentions articles of clothing so naturally, that's enough of an excuse to use it
> 
> also shout-out to the pals over at the morston discord for putting up with all my nonsense garbage, y'all are great

The first time it happens, Charles almost doesn’t even realize it. 

It’s been about two months since the day he moved in with John and Arthur, after answering an ad in the newspaper about two guys living in a three-bedroomed apartment looking for a roommate. 

An apartment located in downtown Blackwater was undoubtedly expensive, especially one as large as three bedrooms. The whole “ad in the newspaper” thing seemed kind of old-fashioned, but Charles’s split on the rent was something he could afford and it was closeby enough that he only had to make a fifteen-minute commute to work, so why not?

The apartment was nice, and so were John and Arthur. Charles told them he could move in that day if they’d like, and he did. 

“How long have you two known each other?” Charles had asked as Arthur and John helped him carry what little belongings he had into the apartment. Just a few boxes, all enough to cram into the backseat of his truck. 

Charles noticed how Arthur almost instinctively handed John the less fragile items, something Arthur probably didn’t even notice himself doing. That little gesture within itself would have been enough to answer Charles’s question. 

“Too long,” Arthur had all but sighed, but his tone was fond. So was the lopsided grin he tossed John’s way after he said it. 

If Charles had to guess, he probably would’ve said Arthur and John knew each other nearly their whole lives, if not completely. The habits they shared wasn’t something to develop over just a few years.

Living with two people who were so accustomed to each other as John and Arthur were had left Charles feeling a bit doubtful of his own place in the home they all shared a few times. But, Arthur and John were good at sharing, despite how stubborn John let on that Arthur was, or how often Arthur accused John of being selfish. These were two men that had shared practically everything since the day they met.

Two months later, and Charles finds himself still trying to figure Arthur and John out. 

Arthur’s harder to read than John is. Arthur’s more closed off, sometimes, and he gets this look on his face that leaves anyone to guess what he’s thinking. His actions say a lot more than his words do, and sometimes he doesn’t have to say anything at all. Charles isn’t as good at reading Arthur as John is, but he’s getting good enough to notice the little things.

He knows by the way Arthur walks through the door when he comes home at night is enough to tell what kind of day he’s had at work. He knows that by the way Arthur glances down at his phone when it rings, and how he automatically jumps up and goes off to the other room that either Dutch or Hosea has called him and it’s important. Most of these things Charles knows about Arthur, John has pointed out himself, but a few things - just a few things, Charles has noticed entirely on his own. 

Arthur is the kind of man that’s many little different versions of himself wrapped into one individual being.

The quiet, thoughtful version that likes to watch the sunrise out from their small balcony and sketch the birds that land on the ledge. John knows to bring this Arthur a cup of coffee while he’s out there - usually Arthur’s the type that likes to make his own coffee, despite it just being black. Arthur would probably just get his own eventually, but John says he likes the opportunity, because it’s not something he gets to do too often. Perhaps that’s why Charles feels almost taken back when John lets him take up this routine a few times, instead. 

There’s the loud, happy version that’s all smiles and warm chuckles that’s usually drunk but sometimes sober. This one, predictably, is John’s favorite. Arthur’s a terrible drunk, all disorientated and clumsy, and sometimes sorrowful if talking about the right topic. It’s some of the few times Charles has seen Arthur smile, an actual honest and full-fledged toothy smile, and it’s almost like looking right at the sun. Charles wouldn’t describe Arthur as an unhappy man by any means, but when he’s like this, Arthur seems to be absolutely radiating with joy.

And there’s the tense, squared shoulder version with his brows furrowed and a scowl etched into his features. Usually, John is the cause that made this version of Arthur rear its ugly head, but sometimes it’s Dutch, or work, to which soon after John riles him up enough, John is taking the blame again. Charles does his best to keep to himself when Arthur’s like this, because if he doesn’t, John will try bringing him in on whatever argument they’re having as a referee. Charles has let himself be roped in a couple of times by John, until he had to flat out be a peacemaker, calling out both of their wrongdoings and putting a halt to their bickering. 

John can get under Arthur’s skin like nobody Charles has ever seen before, and it’s odd, seeing as John’s one of the people Arthur loves the most. And John loves Arthur back just as much, and the only thing Charles knows to put it down as is the two of them simply knowing each other too well. 

Every single version of Arthur is Arthur, himself, Charles had figured out. Arthur’s not totally brooding, or entirely boisterous, or completely moody. He’s just complex, as John would say, and you just gotta know how to handle him.

John, on the other hand, is a whole different story. 

When placed in the situation, Charles would say John is one of the easiest and hardest people to explain. 

John’s about as easy-going and bull-headed as one person can be. He views life on the lighter side than Arthur does, but he’s not totally optimistic. He’s a theoretical comparison to Arthur’s practicality. 

John has an idea of who he is, Arthur has told Charles before, but not an actual grasp of who he truly is. Moreso an illusion than actual reality. 

John’s charismatic, he’s got a way with words that makes you think - but not so much in the sense as what he thinks he does. At the end of the day, John can still be a mumbling mess. He’s better at thinking on his feet when it comes to his words than Arthur is, but when provided the time, Arthur’s the one with the most charm out of the two. 

John’s smart, and he’s got a point of view on every situation that you can definitely see his side from. He’s good at explaining himself and more open with what he’s feeling. He’s predictable, something Arthur has chided him on many times, but more than once he’s caught Charles and Arthur both off guard. 

Like the time he brought home a bunch of taxidermied rodents from some flea market and insisted they use them as decor for the apartment. Decor that Arthur let John put up, all the while grumbling to Charles that he was gonna throw it all in the garbage once John fell asleep. Charles, however, wasn’t surprised when he woke up that next morning to see John’s taxidermied decor still in place. 

Or the time he planned a spur of the moment weekend trip to the beach a couple of cities over, because this was it - John was finally gonna learn how to swim. They all came back with horrible sunburns and even after being thrown into the ocean a few times by Arthur, John was still as unable to swim as he was before they left. 

And despite their differences, and the bickering, and the snide remarks - Arthur and John fit together like the last two pieces of a puzzle. One wasn’t the same without the other, and one wasn’t complete without the other. Within two months, Charles had become well accustomed to the fact that there was no  _ just _ Arthur, and there was no  _ just _ John. There was  _ Arthur and John _ .

And maybe that’s why Charles doesn’t see his own piece in a puzzle that’s so blatantly  _ theirs  _ that it leaves him questioning how and why he would belong. 

He doesn’t mind, however, growing accustomed to the way John and Arthur are and how they do everything until Charles is finding his own place in their relationship. Pretty soon, the opening reveals itself like it was there all along, and it was. Charles just had to  _ see _ it.

That’s why, two months in and pretty well adjusted, Charles doesn’t think anything of it. Just the beginning of yet another habit or routine the three of them possesses together. 

Arthur comes home late from work that night, exhausted and damn near silent and John has already pawned off the mentioning of dinner plans for Charles to bring up, because if Charles brings it up then Arthur won’t bite his head off like he would with John. 

It’s too late for either of them to bother with cooking an actual dinner, and it’s about time for them to make a trip to the grocery store anyway - last time Charles checked the cabinets all he could find was John’s leftover junk food and a collection of canned goods that only Arthur would really eat. 

Charles watches the way John’s eyes follow Arthur as he walks right past them where they’re seated on the couch, through the living room, and down the hall. Soon, they hear the sound of the bathroom door open and then shut. Arthur’s taking a shower, just as predicted. 

John’s gaze meets Charles’s, and Charles lets out something of a half-hopeful sigh before patting John on the knee and standing up from his place beside John on the couch. 

“What d’you want for dinner?” Charles asks, grabbing his keys and phone from the coffee table. 

“Pizza,” John answers, lounging back on the couch as he was before Arthur stormed through the apartment. Charles doesn’t have to ask what kind anymore. Actually, he didn’t have to ask what kind of pizza John or Arthur wanted about after a couple of weeks of living here. 

Charles nods, and heads off towards the closed bathroom door, knocking a couple of times to get Arthur’s attention. He doesn’t hear the shower running yet so Arthur should have a good chance of hearing him through the door. John, on the other hand, wouldn’t bother with the privacy. Hell, there’s plenty of times Charles has passed by the bathroom, door wide open with John in the bathtub and Arthur seated up on the edge of the sink. Talking about absolutely nothing, a conversation as casual if it were being held on the couch in front of the TV. 

“Yeah?” Arthur’s voice, still tinged with irritation, comes through the door. 

“I’m going out,” Charles announces. “You good with pizza?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, this time the word sounding a little less irritated.

It’s all the confirmation Charles needs, and he walks back through the hall and into the living room, grabbing up his jacket from where it’s thrown over the back of one of the chairs. He passes a light-hearted, “Don’t kill each other while I’m gone,” in John’s direction and he’s out the door. 

It’s not until Charles gets in his truck and pulled out onto the road that he realizes that this is, in fact,  _ not  _ his jacket he’s wearing. It’s a bit tighter than his own, but not enough for him to actually realize until he starts shifting around, and it’s warm, like he’d just pulled it off and put it back on again. Or like  _ Arthur  _ had just pulled it off. 

Charles glances down and sees Arthur’s tan suede jacket instead of his own, just a few shades darker. They’re not exactly alike and yet, apart from the color difference and the fur lining in Arthur’s, Charles can see how he made the mistake. He remembers Arthur throwing his jacket down on top of where his own lay, and now, only, he remembers a little too late. 

They all use the same clothes detergent so nobody really has their own smell, but sometimes Arthur will put on a bit of cologne, and tonight, well, the smell of it is almost overwhelming in the cab of Charles’s truck. 

Definitely not in a bad way, Charles likes the cologne Arthur wears - he helped John pick it out last month for Arthur’s birthday. 

Wearing Arthur’s jacket feels... _ nice,  _ actually. And it’s a feeling that’s warm and comforting enough to brace him against the cold winter wind when Charles parks in front of the pizza restaurant and gets out of his truck. A feeling that Charles isn’t sure the fur lining can take full credit for.

Easily enough, however, Charles pushes the thought from his mind, because he’s thinking too much about something that doesn’t even really need to be thought about. 

When he walks back in the apartment, food cradled in his arms, Arthur’s out of the shower sitting on the couch, dressed in his loose flannel pajama pants and John’s still laid back, his feet now in Arthur’s lap. Seems they didn’t kill each other, after all. 

Charles sets the boxes down on the kitchen table and turns around to see Arthur’s eyes locked on the jacket before moving up to meet Charles’s gaze. He’s wearing that expression that Charles can’t entirely read, but it’s soft and almost affectionate - similar to the looks he gives John during some of their gentler moments. 

“Sorry,” Charles clears his throat, taking off Arthur’s jacket and placing it back on the back of the chair where it was, albeit a bit more neatly. “Accidentally grabbed your jacket when I headed out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur says, and he smiles, not full-fledged and toothy but enough so that it’s clear. He lets his gaze linger on Charles for a few seconds before drifting away to look at John, who’s staring so intently at the TV that Charles wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice he’d returned. 

“C’mon, up,” Arthur pats at John’s leg before lifting his feet out of his lap, allowing himself to get up. “Food’s here.”

John groans, sitting up like it’s the last thing he wants to do right now and he takes the helping hand Arthur’s got offered out and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

Charles would be lying if he said his face didn’t feel a little warm, but then again, maybe the remaining heat from the fur lining can take the blame for that one, too. 

***

Nearly two weeks go by until it happens again.

“What the  _ hell  _ is that?” Arthur nearly chokes taking a sip of his coffee when John saunters out of the hallway and into the dining area where he and Charles are sitting.

Arthur has been nearly quiet all morning, but not unfriendly, and his voice still sounds rough like he just woke up. Charles looks up at where John stands, reaches a hand up to wipe away the remainder of sleep in his eyes, and notices the new addition in which Arthur is questioning. 

A brown leather newsboy hat sits upon John’s head of long black hair, and it looks, well, if Charles is being honest, absolutely ridiculous. 

John’s got his hands on his hips, already defensive. “What?”

“That  _ hat _ ,” Arthur says.

“What, you don’t like it?” His offended look turns into a glare on Arthur’s behalf almost instantly. 

“Are you kidding?” Arthur says, rhetorically, but he lets his own gaze drop from John, back down to his phone. “No, I don’t like it - who would?”

Charles just remains seated, quietly, caught up in sparing glances between the two of them as they bicker. 

“ _ I  _ like it,” John says, and continues on past the two of them and into the kitchen. “You wear that stupid cowboy hat every day, now, I can’t wear a hat, too?”

“That ain’t what I meant,” Arthur says, eyes still glued to his phone. He’s lost this argument, because John does have a point. It is  _ his  _ head, after all. 

John comes back into the dining area with a bowl of cereal and pulls up a chair, joining them at the table. A beat passes between them and nobody says anything, the tension from Arthur and John’s bickering hanging above them in the air. 

Arthur, surprisingly, is the first one to break. He glances up at John, who’s glaring down at his cereal like _ it _ might’ve offended him in some way. 

“D’you really think my cowboy hat is stupid?” The anger has completely vanished from Arthur’s tone, and Charles could swear that John’s expression softens a little. 

“D’you really think my hat’s stupid?” John asks, and maybe his voice has lost its previous bite as well. 

“Yes,” Arthur answers. Charles can’t help but snort, which earns him a redirected scowl from John. 

“Then,  _ yes _ .” 

Charles sighs heavily, interrupting whatever retort Arthur had opened his mouth to say. 

“Alright, you two,” Always playing the peacemaker, Charles is. It’s not like he minds or anything, because honestly someone’s gotta be here to keep Arthur and John from being at each other’s necks. If it wasn’t so blatantly obvious how much love the two had for each other, anyone would swear they hated each other’s guts. “Knock it off already.”

“My pleasure,” Arthur moves forward and half-heartedly makes a swipe at John’s hat. John’s good though, and probably expects it before Arthur even makes the move, and jerks out of his reach. 

“Alright, alright,” Arthur says, surrendering. He stands up fully now, stuffing his phone in the pocket of his jeans. “I better get going to work, I’ll see y’all tonight.” 

“Have a good day,” Charles and John mumble, almost in unison. A routine practiced nearly every morning.

Arthur circles around the table and over behind where John sits, quick, and plucks John’s hat clean off his head. 

Charles just watches, helplessly.

“Hey!” John exclaims, and when he half jerks around to grab it back, Arthur bends down and kisses the top of John’s head before placing the hat back on his head like he never disturbed it in the first place.

It’s not weird, but it’s definitely not routine, and Charles feels the corners of his mouth twitching up into a full-fledged grin. It’s hard not to smile when the two of them are like this. The kissing is new, but the playful back and forth bantering definitely isn’t. 

Arthur’s already out of reach when John swipes at him again, and he’s out the door with a, “Bye, guys!”

“Drive safe, asshole!” John manages to get out before Arthur closes the door behind him completely, and Charles hears Arthur laughing and then the door shuts, and there’s silence again. 

Charles glances back over to John and is a bit surprised to find, however, that John’s face is now a glowing shade of pink. His hat is still lopsided on his head from where Arthur put it back and Charles can’t help himself but reach over and adjust it. 

“Thanks,” John mutters to his cereal. 

“Don’t mention it.”

John definitely doesn’t stop wearing the hat, however, and about a few days have passed and Charles could swear that John’s sole purpose of wearing the damn thing was just to annoy Arthur. 

Charles wakes up a bit earlier than usual that morning, and earns himself some peace and quiet alone at the dining table. He even woke up early enough to make a proper breakfast for himself and John and Arthur, who will probably be grateful for the change in breakfast options. 

It’s like the two of them would do anything to avoid doing the dishes - even with the use of a dishwasher. It’s nothing to see John eating dry cereal straight out of the box or Arthur having untoasted Pop-Tarts for days in a row. Charles already had to resort to buying his own personal gallon of milk after seeing John and Arthur trading swigs straight from the jug one too many times.

“Hey, Charles,” John says, walking into the dining area, and  _ that’s  _ new. John is always the last to get up out of the three of them, usually joining them for breakfast right when Arthur’s about to leave for work. 

“Hey -” Charles is about to ask John what’s got him up so early but when he looks up he notices the way John’s practically jogging to the table to grab a seat and the sneaky little grin he’s wearing,  _ then _ he notices Arthur’s hat. 

Perched on top of his head where his own flat cap should be, and John must notice the look on his face because he brings a finger up to his mouth, shushing Charles before taking a seat. 

John sits his own hat on top of the table, folding his hands together innocently behind it, and he keeps glancing over his shoulder at the hallway entrance like he’s expecting a hatless Arthur to emerge any second.

The two of them play pranks on each other all the time, but this is almost so childish it’s laughable. John has  _ stolen  _ Arthur’s hat and is now  _ wearing  _ it, and it actually suits him. It looks a hell of a lot better than John’s own hat does, and Charles is about to tell him that when they both hear Arthur’s muffled cursing coming from somewhere down the hall. 

“ _ Damn it,  _ hey fellas, any chance either one of you’ve seen my -” As expected, Arthur appears, visibly frustrated, and he stops mid-sentence and mid-stride a few feet away from where John and Charles sit, his gaze settled on his own hat placed atop of John’s head.

John’s still got that grin on his face, now wider after being caught, and he turns around to face Arthur, feigning innocent. 

“No, friend, can’t say I have,” John practically giggles, and jerks up his own flat cap off the table. “But here’s a hat you can wear.”

Arthur marches towards him and reaches like he’s gonna jerk his own hat off of John’s head, but he pauses, huffs out another angry breath, and grabs John’s hat instead. Arthur knows how to play John’s games, and he knows how to play them well. 

“You really are something else,” Arthur shoves John’s hat down on his own head, overly adjusting it to his liking. He walks over to the mirror they have placed on one of the walls in the living room for decor and glances at himself, adjusting the hat one more time for good measure. 

“Looks better on me than it does you, anyway,” Arthur says, as if it justifies his actions, passing by them and disappearing into the kitchen. 

John looks pleased, albeit a little surprised, but everyone’s happy. 

Arthur emerges a few minutes later with two plates of breakfast, sitting one down in front of John before sitting the other one down on his side of the table and taking a seat. 

Arthur even wears John’s hat to work, and he’s still wearing it when he comes home that night. John’s laid back on the couch again, asleep with his feet now in Charles’s lap and the brim of Arthur’s hat tipped down over his eyes like he’s some wild west cowboy taking a nap in the sun. 

***

Months have passed and Charles is almost positive that Arthur’s in love with John. 

The speculation alone is enough that Charles’s nearly misses it happening again. 

They’re all crammed in Arthur’s truck on the way to Dutch and Hosea’s, which to Charles’s surprise - Arthur let him take up the position as driver for the trip. 

Arthur loves his truck, Arthur takes damn good care of his truck, and he sure as hell doesn’t let anyone drive his truck. 

John knows this, too, which might explain the little huff he gave when Arthur tossed Charles the keys. 

Arthur must have known what was coming, however, because he’s already throwing a glance over his shoulder at John when he climbs in the passenger’s seat. 

“I trust Charles’s driving,” Arthur says, sternly. A tone that Charles has heard Hosea use before when settling an argument between the two. He’ll have to ask Hosea how he does that someday, because the man’s a pro at it. 

“And you don’t trust  _ mine _ ?” John retorts from the backseat, scooted all the way up so he’s practically right beside the two of them. 

“No,” Arthur answers over his shoulder. 

John falls back against his own seat with another agitated huff and Charles pulls out on the road. 

They don’t even make it a mile down the road before John’s started up the bickering again. “I’m not the one that crashed Dutch’s Cadillac.” 

Charles has half a mind to flip on the radio, and he isn’t sure why he hadn’t already, but the two of them would probably just find a way to drown it out. 

“That was like  _ ten years ago, _ ” Arthur protests, throwing another look over his shoulder. “And that was the only car I’ve wrecked, how many have  _ you  _ totaled?” 

John doesn’t say anything to that, but Charles glances in the rearview mirror just in time to catch John’s defeated shrug and Arthur is settling back in his seat again. 

And as if Arthur was reading Charles’s mind, he leans forward and switches on the radio. 

And Charles  _ knows  _ that Arthur’s in love with John, and maybe he’s known for a little while now. It’s all in the way Arthur looks at John, that’s what Charles believes. He’s always believed that love shone its brightest in the eyes, and if that’s the case then Arthur’s eyes literally sparkle with love when he looks at John. 

It’s in the way Arthur is looking at John, now. Glancing up in the rearview mirror at John ever so often in a way that leads Charles to believe that Arthur thinks he’s being subtle about, but he’s not. 

The way Arthur looks at John when he does anything, really. The way he looks so invested when John is talking, really  _ talking  _ about something. The way Arthur glances down at John’s mouth like he’s wondering what’d it be like to kiss him. 

And Charles is looking over at Arthur, and Arthur’s looking through the rearview at John, often enough to see him but not enough that he’s not paying attention to the road. And then Arthur looks over at Charles, who’s looking at him, and his eyes widen like maybe he wasn’t expecting it. 

Charles finds it difficult to compose his expression, especially when Arthur’s now looking at him like he sometimes looks at John. All wide-eyed and slack-jawed like he’s trying too hard to think of something to say.

So, yeah, Arthur’s in love with John. 

And maybe Charles is a little bit in love with John, too, and maybe he’s in love with Arthur. 

And maybe, if the stars were to align perfectly and everything that was impossible existed - Arthur’s in love with Charles, too. 

“I’m freezing to death back here,” John’s voice is like a beacon, drawing Charles back to reality. 

Because it’s the middle of winter and neither Charles nor Arthur thought to cut on the heat. 

“You’re always freezing,” Arthur retorts, which isn’t completely a lie. John always seems to be bundled up in a blanket, despite the fact that he, more often and not, keeps an eye on the thermostat, keeping the apartment pretty toasty throughout the day. 

It’s something Charles has noticed Hosea doing at his and Dutch’s house, too. And just like Arthur, Dutch will go right behind Hosea and turn off the heat. 

“I think one of my hoodies is back there, you can put that on,” Charles speaks up before John gets the chance to argue any further. He remembers throwing one in the backseat the last time he rode in Arthur’s truck, and it should still be back there unless Arthur brought it in to be washed. 

Soon enough, John produces one of Charles’s hoodies and slides it over his head. And Charles doesn’t even think about it until he glances at John through the rearview mirror again, and then he finds himself thinking a lot about it. 

John isn’t necessarily a small guy, but he’s got a narrower waist than both Arthur and Charles do, and his arms don’t really fill out his shirts like Arthur’s and Charles’s do. He’s got broad shoulders, though, but that’s about it. The man’s built like a stick for the most part, lanky and bow-legged. He's shaped like a martini glass, kind of. He’s not tiny, but he’s smaller than Charles. 

So, the hoodie’s baggy on John, hanging loosely over his frame, and Arthur’s letting his gaze linger just a bit longer on John through the rearview mirror now. 

Charles thinks about it - the way his own hoodie looks on John, the way Arthur’s looking at John in his hoodie, and he doesn’t stop thinking about it until they pull into Dutch and Hosea’s driveway. 

***

Not too long after that, John apparently realizes Arthur’s infatuation.

Charles is usually a sound sleeper, hardly ever waking up in the middle of the night, but tonight, he does. Maybe it was a dream that woke him up, he isn’t sure, but he gets out of bed anyway and heads down the hall towards the bathroom. 

He passes by John’s bedroom and then by Arthur’s bedroom, both doors wide open because again, neither one of them has ever heard of the concept of privacy or personal space. Charles doesn’t even notice that John’s bed is empty, but he does notice, however, that Arthur’s bed is definitely  _ not  _ empty. 

Charles stops, dead in his tracks, thinking about the passing glimpse he just saw. He could’ve sworn he just seen John in Arthur’s bed, and well, Arthur was there, too. 

It’s unlike him not to keep on walking, but Charles takes a few steps back to peer into Arthur’s bedroom once again. And yep, he was right. 

The only reason Charles can see anything at all is that Arthur always sleeps with his TV on, and its cold bluish glow is cast out over the bed where John lays, facing the doorway, sheets draped over his lower-half and Arthur’s arm slung over his waist. 

Charles can’t see much of Arthur, apart from his mussed hair and the half of his face that’s not buried into John’s shoulder. Some kind of warm feeling builds in the pit of Charles’s stomach at the sight of the two of them like this, peaceful and lazily intertwined - as they should be, and as they always should’ve been. Like a contained fire, flames dancing gracefully but not threatening. 

If Charles pokes at it enough, it might burn him, and yet if he leaves it be, the flames might subside completely, leaving nothing but ash behind. 

It’s here, leaning against the frame of Arthur’s bedroom door, still half asleep but conscious enough that it counts, Charles realizes that he’s so in love with both Arthur and John that it aches. Sore and throbbing like a headache in the morning after a night of too many drinks, or the evening after a strenuous workout at the gym. 

He loves Arthur, and he loves John, and he loves the two of them being together because it’s what they deserve. Maybe he’s not one to admit it always, but Charles has  _ so much _ love in his heart for the two of them that it could probably eat him alive if he let it. 

He almost has to force himself to stand back up, and he thinks briefly about closing the door behind him, but he leaves it and keeps on walking down the hall. 

A few days later, Charles still hasn’t brought it up, but he doesn’t have to, because when he walks into the kitchen one morning he sees Arthur crowding John against the door of the fridge, placing delicate kisses at the corner of his mouth and John’s hands are wandering up underneath the back of Arthur’s shirt. 

Charles isn’t even surprised at this point, and he isn’t surprised by much of what Arthur and John do anymore, but this feels more like an answer than it would any sort of question. Like it makes sense, like  _ this  _ might be the final piece to the puzzle. 

“Morning,” Charles says with an expression more amused than anything else, leaning against the counter because he was originally going for a toaster strudel in the freezer, but whatever’s going on in front of it seems a bit more interesting. 

Arthur pulls away and looks over at Charles like he knew he’d been standing there the whole time, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips - which are swollen and red from kisses. John, on the other hand, looks about as shocked and winded as one man possibly could, with his hair a complete mess and arms still wrapped around Arthur’s frame. It suits him. 

It suits him just about as much as Arthur’s hat, or Charles’s hoodie does. 

“Did either of you plan on telling me this was going on, or was it your intention for me to find out myself?” Charles asks, gesturing between the two of them.

Arthur huffs out a laugh, airy and light, and turns back to John to place another kiss along the side of his jaw. 

“Why don’t you tell him,” Arthur mumbles out against John’s skin, and it must be a nice feeling because John’s eyes are practically sliding closed again. “Tell him what you told me.” 

“Tell me what?” Charles asks, pushing himself off the counter because  _ now  _ he’s definitely intrigued. 

Arthur laughs again, the kind of laugh Charles has heard when Arthur’s about four beers in, and he pulls away to glance over his shoulder again. John is just stuck in a loop of glancing between the two of them, looking more confused than he has any right to. 

“John, here, has been  _ pining _ something  _ fierce  _ over you the last couple of months, Charles,” Arthur says casually, and Charles has no idea what to say. 

Luckily, John seems to grab his bearings, and speaks for him. 

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t admit to doing it, too,” John says, and Charles is almost astonished that, in even a moment like this, they’d still manage to find something to bicker about. 

“Yeah, but you started it,” Arthur says, and Charles feels like if he doesn’t interject within the next few seconds he might just snap.

“If you wanted me to join you, you could’ve just asked,” is what Charles ends their pre-squabble with, and it works like a charm, because the two of them are just staring at him now with twin, slack-jawed expressions.

“Well, we’re asking, now,” Arthur is the first to regain his focus, using the hand that’s not lost in the mess of John’s hair to gesture between all three of them. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Is that okay with  _ you _ ?” Charles asks, an eyebrow raised but his demeanor is still oddly amused.

“Yeah, it’s okay with me,” Arthur answers almost immediately, and then he looks back to John. “It okay with you?”

“Yeah,” John nods, and he practically breathes the word out rather than saying it.

“Okay,” Charles says, and it’s settled. He takes the two steps between them and kisses John on the mouth and it’s like every little mystery in the world makes sense, now. 

It’s hardly ever that they all get a day off together, and they usually spend those rare days a bit more productively, but all in all, this somehow seems more productive than anything. 

They’re all crowded together in Arthur’s bed, and thinking about it now they probably should’ve used John’s bed because it’s a bit bigger but Arthur’s was the first one they could get to. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Arthur breathes the word out, disturbing a strand of Charles’s hair. 

They’re all a big tangled mess of limbs: Charles on his stomach - half falling off the side of the bed, Arthur wedged in the middle on his back - staring up at the ceiling, and John on the other side - one leg draped over Arthur’s and the other dangling off the bed. 

Charles laughs, because he couldn’t agree with the sentiment more.  _ Shit, indeed.  _

“We should probably get up,” Arthur says, because apparently he’s the only one with enough energy to speak. Personally, Charles feels like he could lay here in bed, just like this, for the rest of his life. 

“What for?” John moreso objects than asks, voice a bit muffled from where his face is buried in Arthur’s arm. 

“Well, I don’t know about you two,” Arthur says, wriggling his way out of the mess of limbs. Charles lets him go, he doesn’t have it in him to put up any sort of a fight. “But I think I need a shower after that, or at least a cigarette.”

“Me too,” John says, although he doesn’t make enough movement to show any motivation towards the agreement. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles can see him lift his head up to watch Arthur. It’s enough to make him laugh again. 

Arthur’s standing at the end of the bed and picks up the first pair of jeans he can get his hands on. Charles recognizes them as his own, and Arthur probably does too, but he puts them on, anyway. They fit about as perfectly as Arthur’s own jeans do, albeit just a bit looser around the waist. He walks out of the room and both John and Charles’s eyes follow him until he’s out of sight. 

John turns over on his side and crosses the distance between them on the bed, laying his head against Charles’s shoulder blade and slinging an arm over his back. Charles accommodates him with some quick maneuvering, flipping over on his back so John can lay with him properly now. 

A few minutes later, Arthur reappears in the doorway, unshowered and smiling. John’s not moved and his breathing has evened out enough for Charles to know he’s asleep, so Charles lifts his head to peer up at Arthur as gently as he can without disturbing John. And he smiles, the two of them spend a good second or two like that, just sharing stupid happy smiles.

“Never thought I’d say this, but I’m probably the happiest man on the planet,” Arthur says, crossing the room and back over to the bed. Charles has scooted over enough towards the middle that Arthur can join them without too much hassle. 

He sits back down on the bed, and leans over, and kisses Charles. He’s still wearing Charles’s jeans, and as good as they look on him, Charles thinks they’d look a whole lot better off of him right now. 

“No,” Charles says against Arthur’s lips, and he’s still smiling. “Second happiest.”

***

Now, it happens so often that Charles can barely remember a time when it didn’t. 

John, in particular, has made a habit of grabbing for Charles’s or Arthur’s shirts instead of his own. Something neither of them mind, but something Arthur will make a half-hearted gripe about ever once in a while but to no prevail. 

Even after all of this, after everything they’ve been through, the two of them still gripe and fuss and Charles is still the one having to hold their leashes. 

“That’s my shirt,” Arthur says when John comes into the living room. 

They’re all going out to eat for dinner tonight, and Arthur and Charles are seated on the couch, Arthur with his feet propped up on the coffee table and his head leaning against Charles’s shoulder. 

“I know,” John glances down at the oversized shirt he’s wearing before looking back up, and shrugs. “So?”

“ _ So _ , get your own shirt,” Arthur protests weakly and Charles sighs, rubbing a hand over his face to wipe off the smirk that’s threatening to form there. 

“Why? You’re not wearing it,” John retorts, like the child he can be sometimes. 

“Alright, you two,” Charles announces, patting at Arthur’s leg before standing up. Arthur follows suit, still grumbling about his damn shirt, and John is looking smug with another argument won underneath his belt. “Where are we going to eat?”

“Somewhere they got pizza,” John says as Charles grabs his keys off the coffee table and opens the front door, holding it open and gesturing for Arthur and John to take the lead. 

  
“We  _ just had  _ pizza,” Arthur says as they pass by and out the door. Charles can’t help but sigh again, but he lets the smile stay in place this time. 


End file.
